Cyrano and de Valvert
by Corvidae Corvus
Summary: Characters: Mycroft, OC    Set in Mycroft's college days as an eighteen year old. a small snippet of time from when he fenced.


At six in the morning, every weekday morning, the sound of metal tapping against metal, feet moving along the lane and The Beatles ("A Hard Days Night" at the moment) filled the 221B gym room at Oxford college. The fencing club was one of the oldest fencing clubs in Great Britain, and its members were as exclusive, and accomplished, as the school itself was known to be. Ten pairs of young men in full fencing suits jabbed, parried and shuffled as the rays of early morning started to drift inside. A couple more were on the sides for now, helmets under their arms and talking as a third, much older man by the name of Ackworth carefully patrolled along the edges. Suddenly one of the young men at the end shouted after a touch.

"Hah! Dead!"

Ackworth frowned and shouted over the groups still going at it, "Holmes, start practicing to not be rude now, don't want those Tabs holding anything over us next week."

The younger man who had the touch at the far end of the room lifted his hand up to the mask, wrenching it off quick and easy with a soft grunt. "Yes sir," Mycroft Holmes called back with just a tad too much military in it, revealing just a little dash of the cheekiness in it.

Mycroft's dark brown hair, just a little shaggier than normal and in need of a trim soon, was plastered to his head with sweat. Mycroft panted as he tried to catch his breath, blue eyes looking to the man across from him as Holmes pushed the back of his hand across his forehead. "You were a little slow Geoffrey, was it intentional or are you just getting on in years?"

Geoffrey pulled off the helmet in turn, also panting and a bit sweaty as he walked a little closer, meeting Mycroft's small smirk with a raised eyebrow of his own. "Settle down brat, I'm not done with you today yet." Geoffrey was honestly only twenty-one but Mycroft, easily the youngest man in the varsity group at age eighteen, had taken to calling him some array of things referencing his apparent old age.

"Finish this round, take a break," Ackworth called over the general noise, some of the groups that were just getting done heading to the side of the room to grab some water. Mycroft turned to do the same when there was a hand suddenly ruffling and making a mess of his already mussed hair. "Careful Mycroft, you're starting to look like the commonwealth."

The Holmes "brat" gave Geoffery a look as he swatted at his hand, trying to fix his hair. "You tumble on stage like a jester and you're calling me commonwealth?" Geoffery was, in reality, at Oxford for law. However, anyone who knew Geoffery knew that was not where his heart lie. It was on stage, playing characters penned by Shakespeare, Rostand and other great play writers of the ages. And he was brilliant at it.

Geoffery grinned, deciding to play up the fool act a little, stepping in front of Mycroft and taking a small jump to play the rimshot with his feet, spreading his arms in presentation like a clown at the last 'bum', doing jazz hands with his one free hand and really just shaking his practice epee in the other. Mycroft stopped in his tracks, recoiled a little in mock disbelief with his eyebrows raised.

"Cyrano de Bergerac has gone to your head, Geoffery," and he used his epee to wack his side a little, trying to pass by the older man. It was his latest role, Cyrano de Bergerac, that he had been practicing for lately. The spot was almost guaranteed to him as there were not many who could match Geoffery in sheer… magnetism when he was on stage. Though having such a role made him more childish than normal, and apparently Geoffery wasn't having any of Mycroft getting past him without annoyance as he started to take stabs at his padded chest.

"Hey, hey, hey. Hey. Hey!" Mycroft repeated in slightly increasing volume, getting his epee out and parrying the strike by about the forth time. Mycroft tried to strike back a few times, but he was eventually pushed back to near the middle of the lane as he deffended himself, looking a bit annoyed when Geoffery looked pleased at being able to push him back. "Idiot."

Geoffery just grinned wider as he slipped into role and gave a sweeping bow, "Oh, delighted to meet you! And I am Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac." A small pause and Geoffery, as himself with no sign of letting him pass, continued, "You probably don't even know the words, hm?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes exasperated and said the next line pointedly, "Buffoon," then added, "I have taken French Literature, Geoffery."

As if suddenly smacked on his arm, Geoffery hissed and grabbed it, "Aie!"

Mycroft forwned, eyebrows furrowed for a few seconds before he groaned in exasperation and gave another roll of his eyes. "Ugh, I hate you Geoffery." After this point, there would be no getting Geoffery to act normal.

"It must be moved—it's getting stiff! This is what happens when it's been unused for too long," Geoffery began reciting Cyrano's lines perfectly as Mycroft decided not to play his game as much as possible, crossing his arms with the epee jutting out to the side. At the same time, there was a small bit of him that couldn't help starting to get pulled into this little game.

"What /is/ the matter with you," Mycroft said flatly the next line, though meaning it to apply to the current situation as well, giving Geoffery a look that said 'Really?'.

"The cramp! I have a cramp in my sword!" There was a long pause after that with Geoffery grinning rakishly at Mycroft, who still did not look amused. He tried not following the script.

"I am not doing this."

…

"Geoffery, I want my break."

…

"…UGH," Mycroft groaned loud and annoyed, again saying the next line flatly as he prepared his epee. "So be it."

Geoffery came alive again as he acted, like a movie that had paused, "You shall feel a charming little stroke!"

"Actor," Mycroft said contemptuously where the line was supposed to be 'Poet.'

"Yes, an actor, Sir! And to demonstrate my skills as such, I will compose a ballade as we fight."

"A ballade." It was supposed to be a question, though with the amount of flat sarcasm dripping off of Mycroft's voice, it wasn't clear.

"Do you not know what a ballade is," 'Cyrano' asked the 'de Valvert' in front of him; of course Mycroft knew what a ballad was with as much time as he spent waiting in the theatre doing homework.

"I've had French Literature," Mycroft commented flatly, again deviating from the script.

"Know then that the ballade should contain three eight-versed couplets-,"

Mycroft glared at Geoffery.

"And an envoi of four lines-,"

Glare.

"I'll make one as we fight, and on the last line, I shall thrust my sword home."

"No," Mycroft said the line flatly where the play dictated it as more disbelieving; Mycroft just made it sound like another rejection of this game.

"No?" Geoffery grandly presented the next lines, being careful to keep his sword out in front, "Ballade of the duel between de Bergerac and a fool—here in the Hotel Burgundy!"

"I'm going to kill you, Geoffery."

"That is the title," Geoffery continued with a wink, which is when Mycroft made an attempt at a point to Geoffery's chest in order to make him let him have his break. When the younger man was frustrated, he wasn't nearly as good at fencing as he should have been, so it was almost like magic when Geoffery parried and got the point at Mycroft's chest instead. Which caused more glaring from the younger man.

"Wait while I choose my lines," he continued, in character, keeping Mycroft at bay with the epee. Mycroft simply smacked the side of his sword against the older man's, removing it from his chest so he could back up. Mycroft tossed his mask aside, slid his foot back and raised his off hand in the air, preparing for the fighting that would inevitably come.

"Ah, I have them now," Geoffery recited, looking all too eager to fence Mycroft while acting the lines of the great Cyrano de Bergerac. Actually fencing was far different from stage fencing, so this was going to be a nice treat.

"I lightly doff my hat down low," Geoffery simply tossed his mask into the air near the wall.  
>"And, freeing hand and heel,<br>"My heavy cloak away I throw," the mask made a hollow bang behind him. Everyone else was off the mats by now and was watching to see how this would play out.  
>"And I draw my polished steel." Geoffery slid into a similar stance, though he tucked his off hand behind his back.<p>

"Graceful as Phoebus, round I wheel,  
>With swiftness and skill alike."<p>

Geoffery had started to circle around Mycroft, who looked surprised for only a moment before they began to move. Sidestepping wasn't commonly used at competitions, but apparently this had now become part show, part spar.

" 'Careful now,' I say with zeal,  
>For at the end of the refrain I shall strike!"<p>

The older man lunged forward to attempt a strike, which Mycroft easily batted away. Now the spar was on, and as the record started to play "Any Time At All", it was actually Mycroft's voice that suddenly spoke over the music, no longer flat and with a bit of mocking tone, stealing the words away from Geoffrey.

"Better for you had you lain low.  
>Where shall I hit you? In the heel?"<p>

A quick side step and a missed jab from Mycroft.

"Or how about the heart, my worthless foe?"

On the attack, Mycroft attempted it but was parried.

"Or in the hip, and make you kneel?"

Mycroft grinned at that, starting to have some fun finally as he attempted a jab at the lower body, which the older man was stepped back from. Geoffery took the opportunity to steal back his line with zeal.

"Oh, for the music of clashing steel!  
>Where shall I land my spike?"<p>

Mycroft was on the defensive now, stepping back, to the side, parry parry, shuffle.

"'Twill be in the belly the stroke I steal,  
>When, at the end of the refrain I shall strike!"<p>

Geoffery's epee scraped the belly of Mycroft's padding, but there was no stopping; slashes didn't count in epee, but it was a taunt. It was clearly not a mistake, simply a show that Geoffery wanted to finish his lines before ending it. Mycroft hated Geoffery sometimes, and therefore stole his lines from him again.

"Oh, for a word that rhymes with "o"!  
>You wriggle, so white, my eel!"<p>

Mycroft was now fighting aggressively, far more aggressively than he usually did or should; he was far better at sitting back and allowing his opponent to make a mistake.

"Your face is as pale as fresh snow, As I parry the point of your ste-"

Mycroft had indeed parried and attempted to take the point at the older man's chest, and he indeed thought he had it before Geoffery sidestepped at the last second. And with that, Geoffery took the lines back.

"Oh there, a thrust you hoped I'd feel!  
>But alas, you missed, little tyke!<br>Now we're nearing the close of this deal. Watch out! At the end of the refrain I strike!"

Geoffery couldn't help but laugh as the sparring heated up, and even Mycroft was grinning. They both knew, at the next lines were where Cyrano took the win for the duel. And apparently, it was Geoffery who thought he could claim it as he spoke the refrain.

"And now I shall make you kneel.  
>Pray for your soul if you like!"<p>

Oh, no you don't Geoffery. Mycroft followed with a few more aggressive attacks, refusing to have him take the win in this. And that was his undoing. Mycroft was able to get him in a tight spot, and nearly had the point before Geoffery went impossibly low, letting the thrust go high over his shoulder as he lunged.

"I thrust!"

The tip of the epee bent as it was pressed against the padding, right over Mycroft's heart. He had froze, looking down at the older man who was nearly on the floor, a big grin on his face as he finished the lines with the little breath he had left.

"And your fate I seal,  
>As at the end of the refrain, I strike."<p>

Applause filled the room as the other college students clapped for the amusing performance. Mycroft was looking down his nose at Geoffery, who still hadn't moved, the barest of grins on both of their faces as they panted. The "brat" was glad he was already flushed from the exercise as from down there Geoffery quietly asked under cover of applause, "Biology study later, Mycroft?"

There was a small quirk of his eyebrow, but no hesitation. "Yes please."


End file.
